


Where Roses Bloom

by TerminalVelocity



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920s heroines with riding crops and Daddy's Money, BDSM, Drama and Romance, F/M, Historical Fantasy, Multi, femme dom, historical fiction - Freeform, rewrites
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25610548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerminalVelocity/pseuds/TerminalVelocity
Summary: A retelling of the Black Rose/Sugar epic from my prior profile. This time with all the backstory included! Here's hoping no large mistakes in the historical accuracy, and if you notice something just squint. This is meant to be a romantic dramatization of semi-real events, not a documentary.
Relationships: Evelyn/Henry, Evelyn/James
Kudos: 1





	Where Roses Bloom

~ Where Roses Bloom ~

_Chapter One_

_1910_

_Evelyn Rose Seymour was not a girl accustomed to being told "no." Neither was she particularly inclined to respond favorably when perfectly reasonable requests were ignored or denied. So it was that bright spring day in late April of 1910; just after her 12th birthday; that she turned on her heel and began to storm up the dock of her family's Sands Point manor in a whirl of white and shell pink day dress. The young boy who accompanied her; all in tan and white boating clothes himself; scrambled up to his feet and called out after her._   
_"Evie! Evie c'mon, I didn't mean it-" The girl only humphed and tossed her black curls, lifting one delicate shoe higher to start the climb up the low-rolling green lawn to the house beyond when he reached out for her. "Evie, be careful you'll-" She startled, and like a self-fulfilling prophecy, the young girl tripped, and fell, and before Henry James could catch her, she'd barked her hands against the dock, left palm and right knuckles both._

Whatever you do, don't cry! _She immediately thought to herself, sitting in a heap on the dock, shockwaves echoing through her throbbing hands as much as the pain. She started to lift them to assess the damage, but b_ _efore Evie could even register what had happened, Henry had drawn her close and was pressing his handkerchief to her knuckles, covering them before she could even see the slight ooze of red against pale skin. Immediately, she'd forgotten what it was they'd been arguing over, lost in the gentle warmth of his hands and the quiet drone of his voice._

 _"I really didn't mean it," he said softly, as her shoulders began to shake with repressed tears._ She wouldn't cry! Not in front of **Driscoll** of all boys! Not the one who'd seen her grow up! Not the one who kept hanging around her, went to her birthday parties, brought her a tea roses on valentine's for the past two years running-  
 _"But I don't like being on boats," he ducked his dark head, shy, brown eyes warm when he looked at her again. Hands itching with the need to wipe away the tears he could see about to fall. "Never have, much. Too afraid of drowning." Evelyn didn't budge, remembering suddenly. They'd had a little row over whether or not Henry would go out on the water with them next weekend, when her uncle arrived._

_"Well, my uncle is still the best sailor in the world," she declared; ignoring the way her voice was shaky from stung pride and pain, lifting her chin bravely. "I **would** go, even if you wouldn't!" She stilled, looking down at where his hands were still holding her's, gentle in his ministrations to her hurts. "But maybe. Maybe I could... I'd even ask him to take the easy route if... if it meant you'd go along," she allowed, rebelliously refusing to rub at her eyes, to knock the tears from her face. Ladies didn't cry, especially not in public!  
"I'm sorry I wasn't there to catch you," he said quietly, biting at his lower lip for a moment. "I'd go out with you, on the lake at least, if it meant I could make up for it. Keep you safe. Since I couldn't, I mean... If you'd let me." _

_Evelyn felt a little of the ice around her heart melt, and managed a slightly watery smile.  
"I'd like it most if you came along too." _

~*~

1922

The seedy underbelly of New York pulsed at night. In the city that never sleeps, even during Prohibition, under the never-dying lights, the flash of fast fashion and haute couture elegance merged in one glittering crowd night after night. East Coast royalty mingled with middle class and peasant alike in the sea of glitter and cut glass jewels. Down black streets slick with early rains washing away the snows and ice of a long winter, cars raced past each other in a rush to the next dinner engagement, party, raging and reveling in The Mad Years. 

As she stepped from the black towncar, she shrugged the white fur higher on her shoulders; it's tall collar half-hiding her carefully bobbed hair and powdered, rouged complexion from the patrons filing slowly into The Garden Club.  
"Thank you, Joe~" The low, cultured voice lingered like the smoke from a fresh cigarette. "You drive like you make love, so Maisie tells me," she purred, gloved hand lingering on her driver's arm in a teasing show, before slinking towards the opening deep mahogany door of The Garden. Unassuming save in its heavy, impenetrable portal, it swung in on silent hinges at her knock. A slow, sweet smile met the doorman's quiet,   
"Good evening, Miss." She slipped through the beginnings of the evening's crowd, and into the bar proper. Glasses lifted at her fur-wrapped entrance, but she waved them away with a laugh and a promise to dazzle them during her own set on stage. Adaline was up now, warming up with the band in a quiet, sweet number as the club's members wandered in from the street out of cars or walked in from uptown. 

The long white fur stole was perfect in its tailoring, the gleaming silk gown beneath spotless under the gas and electric lights. Finally, she managed to wiggle her way through the crowd, and disappeared into the backstage area. The long heavy curtains that kept most from getting a good look were her salvation now. She could hear the band and Ada's clear soprano warble through the low rumble of the growing crowd, but she had time. The footlights and oceanic roar were all very well and good, but she had an important gift awaiting her arrival. One she didn't intend on waiting for.

No one could really say where Eva Quinn of the Quinn Sister's Jazz Act had come from. Some said Upstate, some said she'd arrived on the train from New Orleans. Some whispered that she was as much ghost as woman; even if she surely was Quite A Woman by all accounts. For all the smoky-voiced singer's insinuations and careful, classy innuendos no visitor to the club could ever honorably claim to have shared her bed and no one would have allowed it to stand if they had. The Black Rose of the Garden Club was a carefully guarded Madonna, and the hearts and minds of at least the band if not her countless sea of admirers were at her beck and call because of it. 

~*~

_1910_

_Evie wrapped her hand carefully in the bandage proffered by her maid, waving her away right after. It still stung, and her mother had flitted about with ointments and tonics fussing about it scarring enough to scare her with the prospect. Every time it throbbed in time with her heartbeat, she still thought about Henry's warm brown eyes, and the gentle way he'd helped her to her feet, and towards the house. Every day for a week after, Henry had come back to check on her, his anxious young devotion leaving her mother smiling, bending her dark brown head to whisper to her father in corners. Young Evie was all-but oblivious to it, until she looked back at those faded-flower memories years later. How her mother's gentle convincing laid the way for what happened later._

~*~

1922

The small brown package lay on her vanity table, unassuming and plain. Eva's hands shook when she picked it up, the soft snick of her scissors as she cut through the twine the only thing to be heard in the stillness of her dressing room. The string and paper fell away, revealing a small black box. The long fur stole fell from her shoulders as she lifted the lid, draping around her body as a chill stole across her bare back. Gooseflesh rippled over her arms, and tears stung her eyes when her gaze fell on what lay inside. A gold-tone pocketwatch, that, when she carefully lifted it from its tissue wrappings and opened it, revealed a portrait of a young couple. The girl, only just turned 16, black curls framing her face, smiling up into the eyes of a young soldier in uniform. The watch snapped shut a moment before she fell to her knees, cradling it in her hands... letting the tears wrack her narrow body as the band started up outside.

~*~

_1913_

_Evelyn squeezed the atomizer gently, spritzing rose and ivy scent across her delicate throat before settling the crystal bottle back on her vanity. She tucked up a few loose strands of black hair, before rising and shaking out the folds of her new evening gown. Soft silk and Irish linen in deep rose and pearlescent grey that draped elegantly around her body. Her father said it made her look older, but her mother had just laughed quietly and told him their little girl was growing up before their eyes. Sedgewick Seymour rolled his eyes lovingly at his wife who swatted him lightly with her fan.  
"So long as it's modest, I don't mind if she chases the fashions," he allowed, "a girl should have a hobby, fashion's as good as any." Alexandra smiled smugly at her second daughter,   
"There, you see? We'll find you a man who knows what's good for him, just like your Father," She teased, before Sedgewick planted a chase kiss on his wife's cheek._

_That had been last week, and the final fitting had trued up all the last little bits into a confection of an evening gown. It was months before her sixteenth birthday she knew, but even so her parent's wedding anniversary was cause enough for a party. Eighteen years was nothing to sniff at, after all, and at any rate... it was an opportunity to see Henry again._

_~_

_The house was already alight when she went down, skirts swirling around her ankles, to meet the guests. There were the Allens of course, the Gardners, the Averies, and... there, coming in the door, were Charles and Marie and ... oh yes~ Henry. The seventeen year old stood, star struck, as she drifted down the stairs from the landing, lifting a hand for her to take as she alighted. "Ms Seymour," he murmured, bending over her hand. "You look lovely this evening, is it a new gown?" She smiled up at him, stars in her blue-grey eyes.  
"It is~ Mother ordered it in from Europe," the young heiress blushed, lifting her hand at last from his before his mother could cough or narrow her eyes at their forward behavior. "Thank you for noticing." She curtsied briefly, "Mr Driscoll, Mrs Driscoll~" She bowed her head, before turning to find her parents so they could greet the rest of their guests together. As she passed, Henry turned to follow her, brown eyes lingering on her face before he cleared his throat and went to find any of the younger set before his parents could set him up with some stodgy old matron for dinner. And really, what did he even know about cousin Michael's plans for Congress? **He** was hardly a politician, and he wouldn't go into law anyway unless there was a good enough reason. _Hang politicians, the lot of them, for being corrupt and power-mad dogs, anyway-

~

_Evelyn moved easily through the crowd, offering pretty compliments here and a witticism there as she crossed the floor. The ballroom doors were flung open to the breeze, and the pale gauzy curtains lifted with every swell, offering relief to the dancers warmed by their efforts. It was for those doors she aimed, lifting the hem of her skirts in one hand, crystal glass of punch in the other as she smiled and shrugged off the advances of several boys before finally, at last, reaching her goal. She sighed as she rested against the outer wall of the manor, cool stone against heated skin feeling absolutely divine. She sipped at the punch, turning her gaze upwards to the heavens, watching the stars through the drifting clouds as the music and clamour from indoors melted into nothing but background noise._

_"I wondered if you'd be out here." The voice was deeper than she expected, and she tensed, eyes narrowing as James Allen walked through the doors and onto the balcony. "Are you avoiding me, Evie?" Her lip curled in an annoyed twitch, as she set the glass lightly on the rail.  
"I've told you a hundred times not to use that name with me, Allen." She wanted to snarl, to growl at him, to tell him to go away. That he was interrupting her stargazing for one, and that he was unwelcome for another... but a Lady is nothing but grace. "Isn't Eliza waiting to dance with you?" James huffed in derision and stepped closer, hemming her in.  
"Eliza? Mother's always pushing her on me, but I'd rather have anyone else-" His eyes narrowed, locking on hers. "I'd rather have you."_

_Bile rose in her throat and she felt the wall, solid behind her beneath her hands. She wanted to scream, to make a scene, and was just lifting her hand to slap him, to defend herself, when-  
_ _"Eva-?" Evelyn could have melted in relief. It was Henry, come to her rescue once again. "Are you- Oh." He stopped, stiller than a statue, intelligent brown gaze taking in the situation at a glance. "Allen." His tone was cool, left hand twitching at his side for a weapon that was not there. "I believe the lady has asked you to leave her in peace." James' eyes turned dark with anger.  
"She never, she only told me Eliza was looking for me. Hang Eliza, I don't give a-" Henry's hand shot out, grasping James' in a tight grip.   
"It's unwise to speak ill of a lady in this house, Allen, as you are well aware. If you do not intend to pursue Ms Andrews, I would suggest you tell her so, and your interfering mother. Ms Seymour has made her stance well known. If you press the issue, I will have to take word of your behavior straight to your grandfather." He leaned in, grip tightening yet further as James' face twisted in rage. "We wouldn't want to have to involve him, would we?" He asked softly, his eyes never once leaving his face. "Go back inside, and leave Ms Seymour in peace." J_ _ames wrenched his hand from Henry's, and stalked towards the door,  
"This isn't over, Driscoll," he all-but hissed, "You'll pay for the insult." _

_Evelyn pressed herself back against the wall, shaking. Henry approached cautiously, offering a hand before noticing her glass on the rail and passed it to her, pressing it into her hands gently.  
"Here, he's gone- don't know what anyone sees in that creature," he murmured, "but you're safe. I swore I'd protect you, didn't I, Evie?" he looked down at her, eyes soft. "I'd marry you to keep you safe, if only your father would agree to it." The words were out of his mouth before he could think, and he flushed dark red in the half-light.   
"Do you mean it." Evelyn's voice was cool, but her hands were trembling around the delicate crystal cup. "Would you really-"   
"Of course I mean it!" He whispered, impetuous. "I would, in a heartbeat, keep you safe and away from cads like Allen, from the ladder-climbing Gardner boys... I'd do whatever you ask, if only you let me protect you." He took her hand lightly, thumb stroking unerringly across the tiny scar that marred her second knuckle beneath the white kid gloves. _

_Evelyn tangled her fingers with his, gazing up at him through her lashes.  
"I'd let you... Henry."_

_~*~_

1922

The distant music washed over her like rain, only muffling the sounds of her tears. She shut the watch carefully, its quiet click as final as the closing of a tomb. She placed the watch and its box in the top drawer of her vanity, pushed behind the pots of rouge and powder. She would never forget, and she was grateful that his grandfather had sent the keepsake as he swore he would... but it hurt too much to bear, just now. She stood, draped the fur over her vanity chair, and set about repairing her face. The members of The Garden had paid to see a performance, and by God she was going to give the show of a lifetime.


End file.
